Our little baby is finally one year old. I guess I shouldn't say 'finally'. It's more like 'suddenly'. It doesn't seem like it has possibly been a year already. Time flies even faster with the second one, that's for sure. Several times this evening I have thought back to what I was doing last year at this time: going in and out of consciousness between contractions! But, it was definitely all worth it. Keaton's gone from being that little infant we swaddled up, placed on our bed, and locked the bedroom door, just to ensure that big brother wouldn't bother him to the little toddler who wanders around the whole house looking for messes to make. We've gone through formula, rolling over, baby food, crawling, solid food, and now walking. Keaton has changed so much over the past year.
Keaton has been the more easy-going of our two boys, so far. He is fairly happy most of the time. He doesn't much like going to bed, but neither does Carl or Cale so I know where he gets it. He is very loving, often giving us repeated hugs. He has still yet to really give a kiss. So stubborn. His favorite hobbies include: 1. Taking everything out of the sippy cup/bottle drawer and throwing it all out on the floor, carrying the clean sippy cups that he throws on the floor all over the house to be found in random places.
2. Sticking his hands in the toilet water, any time a careless person leaves the lid up.
3. Going for quick, clumsy-looking jogs while holding any type of technology that he's not suppossed to have. Especially an iPod or iPhone. He gets his hands on it, then takes off without looking back. He doesn't realize this is a red flag for us. He's going to have to become less conspicuous.
4. Dropping everything and booking it to the dishwasher the minute he hears the sound of plates/bowls clinking. He immediately tries to climb inside once he gets there. I have mastered the art of silent dishwasher emptying. Also, I have a trick. I take everything out as fast as lighting and set it on the kitchen counter, which is out of Keat's reach. Then, I can put things away without worrying.
5. Emptying the trash can onto the floor and searching for scraps to munch on. Caught him doing this on multiple occasions.
At one-year old Keaton is quite a chunk. He loves to eat and will do so when given any chance. He's already become a bit of a picky eater...not to crazy about vegetables besides green beans. He loves milk. He also loves his bottle. For some reason milk in a sippy just doesn't taste quite the same. I'm going to give it a little time before I really try to start breaking him from the bottle. I mean, he was born three weeks early, right? I know, it's just an excuse to avoid the terror that is to come...
Keaton loves people and is willing to go to almost anyone. He has reached for strangers multiple times. What's funny is, I can remember Cale being this same way and now he has a bit of stranger fear. He clams up and gets a grumpy face when people he doesn't know try to talk to him.
Keaton also loves to people watch. He's not even nonchalant about it. He will turn completely all the way around in his high chair to stare at the table behind us. That's actually the one time he's usually not too interested in eating.
We love our Keater-pie and cannot believe he is one. He has been so much fun already and we just love his happy personality. We can't imagine life without him. I think even Cale is 100% glad to have Keat around. It's like he's got his own little punching bag. A punching bag that he loves on in between hits. A few more pounds and Keaton will be able to hold his own. And we will probably sit back and smile the first time he does. Big brother's got it coming...
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Friday, January 13, 2012
A Week in Our Life With a One-Year Old. I'm Tired Just Thinking About it.
It's funny how fast babies go from cute pallet-on-the-floor accessories, capable of little more havoc than the occassional spit up or didn't-get-the-diaper-on-fast-enough mess, to destructive demolition experts, with the speed and accuracy, or inaccuracy, of a seasoned expert. That is where we are. At this very moment.
Carl had several things going on this week that resulted in me spending the evenings alone with the boys. Alone to try to cook dinner, clean up dinner, pick up the mounds of toys lying around my house, only to have both boys creating new mounds behind me as I went. Well, if you've ever had a curiuos one-year old, you probably know that planning to accomplish anything more than chasing them around the house as they go from one room to another, and another, and then back again is pretty pointless. But, even though I know it, it's like I just haven't accepted it. I still try to multitask. When will I learn?
A few nights ago, while Carl was gone I was hurrying around the kitchen trying to get all the droplets of food pieces off the floor beneath Keaton's high chair, mentally groaning because I had JUST steam cleaned the floors the night before. The boys were playing, and since I didn't hear the sound that makes my radar go off, screaming, I assumed all things were fine. Or at the very least non-emergency related. After quickly throwing a load of laundry in the washer, laundry that probably consisted of whites, colors, maybe even a diaper (It's happened. Couple of times), and who knows what else all mixed in together due to lack of time and concentration on my part, I walked into the living room to make my rounds. There sat Keaton, with the fireplace door opened, covered in gray ash with a nice thick ring around his mouth where he had taken a few tastes. Around him were handprints covering my floors. The floors that had just been steam cleaned, I have to throw that in there. I know, I need to just get over it. My floors have absolutely no chance of staying clean for more than an hour. If both boys are present and awake, probably not even that long.
After the initial shock, I took my little pain in the "ash", to the bath tub. Was that completely inappropriate? It just fit so nicely... Since it wasn't quite bedtime I let Keaton play a little longer. You'd think I'd learn my lesson, but I never seem to. I went to do a few more things in the kitchen because I just can't stand to have dishes laying around waiting to be cleaned. No loud sounds coming from the TV room. Just the soft voice of Steve on Blues Clues coming from the TV and the occasional sounds of plastic being hit together as Cale drove his tractors around the room. So glad that the boys were letting me get a few things done, I stuck my head in the TV room to check on them. Keaton had somehow, with his Stretch-Armstrong-like reach pulled over the trash can which we had resorted to putting on top of an end table, out of his reach. Or so we thought. Every piece of trash was strewn out across the floor, including pieces of food and crackers that Cale had disposed of. Keaton was sitting in the middle of the mess, chowing down on trash- bucket goldfish crackers, happy as can be. So, I had my 900th mess to clean up that night. Well, it felt like 900.
So by tonight, Friday night, I was completely worn out. Since every Friday night I go on a much-anticipated cooking strike, we headed out to eat. Due to the boys' behavior, we opted for casual and quick: Taco Villa. The whole dinner was a mess. Cale was fairly loud and Keaton was completely restless. He kept throwing his food on the floor, dropping his sippy cup on the floor, pulling himself to a standing position in the high chair, and reaching for anything he could get his hands on. It got to the point that I decided I was done eating and Carl decided to take his meat and bean nacho home to eat it. So, we began the process of loading everything up and trying to get out of there. Which is no easy feat. I was frustrated and tired and still a little hungry. Suddenly our Stretch-Armstrong son stretched far enough to reach the styrofoam box holding Carl's meal. The meat and bean nacho poured down Carl's leg and onto the floor.
I don't know if I finally snapped or what, but I just started laughing. Laughing hard. Carl gave me a look that could kill, so I tried to wipe the smile off my face. While Carl took the boys out to the car, I leaned down and after about 10 napkins, had most of the nacho mess cleaned up. I laughed the whole way to the car. Carl still had that look on his face. He talked about his precious nachos for about 10 minutes while driving down the road. But, to ease the pain we stopped at Taco John's to get him some food.
I still don't think the incident is even remotely amusing to Carl. Wasting a Taco Villa meat and bean nach could never be laugh-worthy to him. But, maybe in a few days.
Sometimes all you can do is laugh when life throws difficult times at you...or in this case...nachos.
Carl had several things going on this week that resulted in me spending the evenings alone with the boys. Alone to try to cook dinner, clean up dinner, pick up the mounds of toys lying around my house, only to have both boys creating new mounds behind me as I went. Well, if you've ever had a curiuos one-year old, you probably know that planning to accomplish anything more than chasing them around the house as they go from one room to another, and another, and then back again is pretty pointless. But, even though I know it, it's like I just haven't accepted it. I still try to multitask. When will I learn?
A few nights ago, while Carl was gone I was hurrying around the kitchen trying to get all the droplets of food pieces off the floor beneath Keaton's high chair, mentally groaning because I had JUST steam cleaned the floors the night before. The boys were playing, and since I didn't hear the sound that makes my radar go off, screaming, I assumed all things were fine. Or at the very least non-emergency related. After quickly throwing a load of laundry in the washer, laundry that probably consisted of whites, colors, maybe even a diaper (It's happened. Couple of times), and who knows what else all mixed in together due to lack of time and concentration on my part, I walked into the living room to make my rounds. There sat Keaton, with the fireplace door opened, covered in gray ash with a nice thick ring around his mouth where he had taken a few tastes. Around him were handprints covering my floors. The floors that had just been steam cleaned, I have to throw that in there. I know, I need to just get over it. My floors have absolutely no chance of staying clean for more than an hour. If both boys are present and awake, probably not even that long.
After the initial shock, I took my little pain in the "ash", to the bath tub. Was that completely inappropriate? It just fit so nicely... Since it wasn't quite bedtime I let Keaton play a little longer. You'd think I'd learn my lesson, but I never seem to. I went to do a few more things in the kitchen because I just can't stand to have dishes laying around waiting to be cleaned. No loud sounds coming from the TV room. Just the soft voice of Steve on Blues Clues coming from the TV and the occasional sounds of plastic being hit together as Cale drove his tractors around the room. So glad that the boys were letting me get a few things done, I stuck my head in the TV room to check on them. Keaton had somehow, with his Stretch-Armstrong-like reach pulled over the trash can which we had resorted to putting on top of an end table, out of his reach. Or so we thought. Every piece of trash was strewn out across the floor, including pieces of food and crackers that Cale had disposed of. Keaton was sitting in the middle of the mess, chowing down on trash- bucket goldfish crackers, happy as can be. So, I had my 900th mess to clean up that night. Well, it felt like 900.
So by tonight, Friday night, I was completely worn out. Since every Friday night I go on a much-anticipated cooking strike, we headed out to eat. Due to the boys' behavior, we opted for casual and quick: Taco Villa. The whole dinner was a mess. Cale was fairly loud and Keaton was completely restless. He kept throwing his food on the floor, dropping his sippy cup on the floor, pulling himself to a standing position in the high chair, and reaching for anything he could get his hands on. It got to the point that I decided I was done eating and Carl decided to take his meat and bean nacho home to eat it. So, we began the process of loading everything up and trying to get out of there. Which is no easy feat. I was frustrated and tired and still a little hungry. Suddenly our Stretch-Armstrong son stretched far enough to reach the styrofoam box holding Carl's meal. The meat and bean nacho poured down Carl's leg and onto the floor.
I don't know if I finally snapped or what, but I just started laughing. Laughing hard. Carl gave me a look that could kill, so I tried to wipe the smile off my face. While Carl took the boys out to the car, I leaned down and after about 10 napkins, had most of the nacho mess cleaned up. I laughed the whole way to the car. Carl still had that look on his face. He talked about his precious nachos for about 10 minutes while driving down the road. But, to ease the pain we stopped at Taco John's to get him some food.
I still don't think the incident is even remotely amusing to Carl. Wasting a Taco Villa meat and bean nach could never be laugh-worthy to him. But, maybe in a few days.
Sometimes all you can do is laugh when life throws difficult times at you...or in this case...nachos.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Oh to have the imagination of a three-year old...or the energy. Cale has finally hit the stage of pretend play. We started out the night with a pretend circus. I walked into the TV room to find every cushion and pillow off of our couch and thrown on the floor in a messy pile. Cale then informed me that it was a circus and I had to sit down and watch the show, which of course I did. Then, after applauding his efforts, he told me it was my turn. So, I gave a few sad attempts at what I called "flips" and he cheered and clapped as if I was a regular acrobat. You gotta love that child-like admiration. I'm trying to soak up every minute he loves me and thinks I'm kinda cool, because I know in a few years I will be so much less than cool to him.
After convincing Cale that we had to close the circus down, he decided he wanted to be a "baby". Being a sappy mom, I have to say I was eating this up. He crawled around on the floor and made cute little baby sounds. Then, he got the idea that to really portray a baby, he would need a diaper and a baby shirt (aka onesie). So, thinking this would be pretty funny (and maybe even bring back a few memories), I cradled him in my arms and took him to Keaton's room. He lay on the floor, much too eager to get his baby diaper put on. After squeezing into the diaper, he squeezed even harder into a onesie. With a little work, I finally got it buttoned. He looked like a 3 feet tall baby with long, skinny legs.
He was way too geeked up about being "the baby". Carl and I played along for about 10 minutes: putting Cale in Keaton's crib, rocking him, putting him in the high chair...you get the picture. But, eventually we lost interest. Much sooner than Cale did. He continued to crawl around and crying "wahhhh". Then, he came up to me and said, "Mommy, you need to change my diaper. I poo-pooed." Wishing he would give up the act already, I distractedly played along and said, "Oh no, the baby's got a dirty diaper!". But, Cale was pretty persistent. And that's when I smelled it. And then I looked. Cale, with the strangest look on his face said, "Baby pooped in his diaper." After he said it, he looked gave me an inquisitive look, as if to see how I was going to react to this news. Let's just say it wasn't cute anymore.
In disbelief, I scooped him up, regretting the baby idea ever happened. I stopped by the playroom to give the news to Carl. As I was holding a stinky, much-to-big-to-even-wear-a-diaper Cale in my arms and telling Carl what our son had done, Cale said "I'm peeing on myself right now." And he was.
Maybe we have a future actor in our house. He was willing to get his "hands dirty"...well, other areas dirty, for a role. Don't the best actors become their character?
Oh, who am I kidding, I think we just have a little boy who was looking for a chance to poop on himself and not get into trouble.
Moral of the Story:
Diapers are NOT toys.
After convincing Cale that we had to close the circus down, he decided he wanted to be a "baby". Being a sappy mom, I have to say I was eating this up. He crawled around on the floor and made cute little baby sounds. Then, he got the idea that to really portray a baby, he would need a diaper and a baby shirt (aka onesie). So, thinking this would be pretty funny (and maybe even bring back a few memories), I cradled him in my arms and took him to Keaton's room. He lay on the floor, much too eager to get his baby diaper put on. After squeezing into the diaper, he squeezed even harder into a onesie. With a little work, I finally got it buttoned. He looked like a 3 feet tall baby with long, skinny legs.
He was way too geeked up about being "the baby". Carl and I played along for about 10 minutes: putting Cale in Keaton's crib, rocking him, putting him in the high chair...you get the picture. But, eventually we lost interest. Much sooner than Cale did. He continued to crawl around and crying "wahhhh". Then, he came up to me and said, "Mommy, you need to change my diaper. I poo-pooed." Wishing he would give up the act already, I distractedly played along and said, "Oh no, the baby's got a dirty diaper!". But, Cale was pretty persistent. And that's when I smelled it. And then I looked. Cale, with the strangest look on his face said, "Baby pooped in his diaper." After he said it, he looked gave me an inquisitive look, as if to see how I was going to react to this news. Let's just say it wasn't cute anymore.
In disbelief, I scooped him up, regretting the baby idea ever happened. I stopped by the playroom to give the news to Carl. As I was holding a stinky, much-to-big-to-even-wear-a-diaper Cale in my arms and telling Carl what our son had done, Cale said "I'm peeing on myself right now." And he was.
Maybe we have a future actor in our house. He was willing to get his "hands dirty"...well, other areas dirty, for a role. Don't the best actors become their character?
Oh, who am I kidding, I think we just have a little boy who was looking for a chance to poop on himself and not get into trouble.
Moral of the Story:
Diapers are NOT toys.
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